


Let The Light Back In

by Kithri



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kithri/pseuds/Kithri
Summary: It’s been a decade since the golden man first appeared, and the world is still changing. But the only thing Rosa cares about right now is getting her best friend back.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Let The Light Back In

**Author's Note:**

> This was my submission for the [Parahuman Zine](https://parahumanzine.tumblr.com/post/637283703246176256/parahumanzine-the-time-has-come-thanks-to-all), created and curated by [The Sleeping Knight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleepingKnight/pseuds/TheSleepingKnight) and nil. Thanks to both of them, and to all my fellow contributors, for their phenomenal hard work. It was an honour to be a part of it. Please check it out!

**Sheffield, England, June 1992**

“I see someone’s got a face on. Let me guess, you can’t find your shoes either.”

Rosa jerked her head up, butterflies flapping up a storm in her stomach as she met Malika’s amused gaze. It was as if the crowd of people jostling around them receded into the distance, like it was just the two of them standing there.

“R— Right,” she said, cringing inside at the stutter but plunging on like everything was normal, like absolutely nothing at all had changed between them. “I swear I left them right here. How does this always happen to me?” To emphasise her point, she directed a fearsome glower down at the haphazard collection of footwear spilling over the hopelessly inadequate rack to form a large puddle on the floor.

Mal laughed, low and rich and wicked, closing the distance between them to bump her shoulder against Rosa’s. “Just Jum’ah things, am I right? Anyway, would a trip to the mosque really be complete without the great post-prayer shoe hunt?”

“This is so bloody annoying,” Rosa groused, painfully aware of the warmth spreading from that point of contact between them, of the electricity thrumming along her nerves.

Mal laughed again. “Hey, have you heard the new Take That song?”

“Take who?”

“No, Take That. Come on, I’ve told you about them before.”

“Have you? I must’ve missed it.” But although Rosa tried to maintain a poker face, she just couldn’t do it. “Yeah, I’ve heard it. Pretty catchy.”

“It’ll be a number one smash, you’ll see.” Mal hummed a few bars of It Only Takes a Minute, a dreamy look on her face. “I really want to see them live. Do you think they’ll ever come to Sheffield?” But before Rosa could answer, her expression sharpened and she lunged to the side suddenly, digging into the shoe puddle like a cat scooping up a fish. Also like a cat, she radiated satisfaction as she held up her prize for inspection. “Aren’t these yours?”

“Uh, yeah. Yes they are. And…” Rosa carefully stepped around Mal, bending to scoop up her own prize. “I think these are yours?”

“Well spotted.”

“They’re bright red. It wasn’t that hard.”

“All the better to pick them out of the heap. Unlike these boring things.” She pulled a face as she offered Rosa’s boots to her.

“They’re comfortable,” Rosa muttered, setting Mal’s shoes down in front of her so she could reclaim her boots without having to engage in an impromptu two-person juggling act. And if it felt as though sparks flared when their hands touched, well, that was obviously just her imagination working overtime.

“So?”

“So I’d rather be comfy than be a fashion victim.” She slipped her boots on and started tying the laces.

Mal was already done with her ballet flats, straightening to quirk an eyebrow at Rosa. “You know you can be comfy and fashionable, right? The two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Abso-tively posi-lutely. I mean, just look at me!” She struck a pose, tossing the trailing end of her hijab over her shoulder and pouting, the exaggerated seriousness of the expression belied by the amusement dancing in her eyes.

Rosa found a smile on her lips, as she so often did when she was with Mal, and it spilled over into laughter when Mal waggled her eyebrows. And then it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to say, “Want to hang out when we get back?”

Mal’s face froze, and the brief candle flame of hope that had sprung to life in Rosa’s chest was already guttering and dying even before Mal said, “I can’t, sorry.”

She was already turning away, and Rosa knew she should’ve just let it go, but instead she took a step forward, almost stumbling over her half-tied laces but too distracted to care. “Tomorrow then?” There was a part of her that wanted to cringe at how eager, almost desperate she sounded, but if it worked, if Mal said yes, then maybe they could just go back to the way things used to be before… Before. _Insha’allah,_ she prayed, as fervently as she’d ever prayed for anything in her life. _I just want my best friend back._

But Mal shook her head. “I’m busy tomorrow. Sorry. But… I’ll call you, okay?”

_No you won’t._

“Okay,” she said anyway, like she didn’t have to force the word out past the lump in her throat; like her heart wasn’t breaking all over again.

Mal never did call, and even though she’d expected that, the reality was somehow worse. It ached inside her like hunger as she stumbled through her weekend and sleepwalked through school.

_Why won’t she talk to me?_ They’d always been so close, but now it was like a chasm had opened up between them and Rosa just didn’t know how to bridge it. _I wish— Oh crap, is it eleven already?_

“…tuned for Night Owls,” the radio announcer was saying.

_I should go to bed,_ she thought, completely failing to move from her desk. _But eleven isn’t that late, even on a school night, and I want to get a bit more done on this project. Anyway, I want to listen._ Not to mention the fact that she was feeling too restless to sleep right now.

“Good evening Sheffield. You’re tuned to Hallam FM and this is Night Owls with me, Roger Kirk. What’s on your mind?” He paused for a moment, presumably for effect, and Rosa tried in vain to stop her thoughts rushing in to fill the gap. “To kick us off, did any of you watch Panorama tonight? Fascinating retrospective on the history of parahumans; capes, in common parlance. A decade ago, the golden man first appeared above the ocean. Five years ago, capes announced themselves to the world. Three years ago, the death of Vikare, AKA Andrew Hawke, showed us that they were just people. Now, the UK has its own official cape teams, most notably the King’s Men, and we’ve just heard that the police are creating a new specialist operations unit to focus on parahuman-related crime. Is that a step too far? Not far enough? Tell me what you think.” Another brief pause. “Looks like we have our first caller, and it’s one of our regulars: Mary, in Attercliffe. How are you doing, Mary?”

“I don’t believe in these so-called capes.”

“That’s a bold statement. Care to unpack it a little?”

“They don’t exist. It’s all special effects and lies made up to distract us from what’s really going on.”

“Mary, I’ve met Sheffield Steel in person. I’ve shaken his hand. I watched him lift a car over his head.”

“Like I said: special effects and lies. The car was probably on wires.”

They went back and forth a little, but Mary remained unconvinced. Not that Rosa was surprised. _She doesn’t believe in the moon. Of course she doesn’t believe in capes._ Mary wouldn’t even say what she thought capes were supposed to be a distraction from, outside of some dark mutterings about conspiracies and hidden puppet masters. Rosa was half disappointed, half relieved when Roger deftly moved onto the next caller.

“Of course capes are real,” John in Parson Cross, scoffed. “Only a right daft apeth’d think they weren’t. Anyway, I wanted to talk about what happened down Hole in the Road the other week.”

Rosa’s hand twitched, sending her pen skidding across the page. Frowning, she set the pen aside and reached for the Tippex bottle. On the radio, Roger was asking John-in-Parson-Cross to explain for the benefit of the listeners.

“The cape fight, of course,” John said impatiently. “Made a right mess. The C&A entrance looked like a bomb’d hit it. Bloody vandals.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Rosa muttered, as if the voices on the radio could hear her. “She didn’t mean to.” And yet doubt wound its treacherous coils around her thoughts, whispering to her with a forked tongue. _I wasn’t there. And she won’t tell me what happened. She won’t talk to me at all. So maybe… Maybe…_ Blindly setting the Tippex bottle down, Rosa sagged in her seat, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes as if that would stop the burning. _I don’t know what to do._

After a restless night’s sleep, Rosa awoke still bereft of inspiration, and she stumbled through the day with gritty eyes and too-tight skin, trying not to think the thought that kept popping up again and again and again in her mind. _I wish she’d never—_

“Rosa, did you hear me?”

Rosa jumped a little, narrowly managing not to spill the bundle of cutlery in her hands, giving her mum a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I was thinking. What did you say?”

“When you’ve finished setting the table, tell Samir and your dad that dinner’s ready.”

“Sure.”

By the time she’d dragged her gremlin of a brother away from his game — she’d had to threaten to pull the plug on his SNES before he finally shifted his arse — the table was practically groaning under the weight of all the food piled on it. _One of these days, Mum will figure out that she doesn’t have to make enough to feed an army._ Today, however, was definitely not that day.

“Couscous?” Samir said as he plonked himself down at the table, pulling a disgusted face. “I wanted fish fingers.”

“If you don’t like my cooking, you know where the kitchen is,” Mum said tartly.

“Are you sure about that?” Rosa muttered, grinning at Samir when he pulled a face at her. He kicked her under the table. She kicked him back.

“Will you two behave?” Mum said, sighing loudly, giving Rosa a look that always made her feel about an inch tall, even though she was now the taller of the two. “You especially, Rosa. You’re old enough to know better.”

“Yeah, Rosa.” Samir drew the words out, grinning from ear to ear. “You should know better.”

“I know you’re asking for a slap!”

“Rosa! That’s enough.”

_It’s not fair. Why do I have to be the responsible one? He’s not that much younger than me._ “Sorry, Mum.”

“Let’s eat,” Dad pronounced, reaching for the plate of semolina bread.

That was the cue for everyone to start filling their plates, passing plates and bowls and serving spoons in an easy, familiar rhythm. There was a moment of stillness as they made their du’a — Rosa may have hurried through the words, because the food smelled so good and she was really hungry all of a sudden, but they were no less sincere for their speed, and anyway that was between her and Allah — and then they could finally dig in.

“What are you looking so mardy about?” Samir asked, jolting her out of her thoughts.

“I’m not mardy. I’m just thinking.”

“What about?”

“None of your beeswax.”

Rather than snapping back at her though, Samir frowned, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of food before swallowing and saying, “You okay? You seem a bit down in the dumps.”

_My best friend is avoiding me and I don’t know why._ But she really didn’t want to get into that right now, so she forced a sly smile to her lips and a teasing note in her voice to say, “Don’t let Mum hear you call the house a dump.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he retorted. They bickered back and forth for a while, subsiding when Mum gave them the beady eye. “Oh, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“What?”

“Has Malika picked a code name yet? If not, she should really get a wriggle on so she doesn’t get stuck with something lame. Remember Ecky Thump? No one wants to be the next Ecky Thump.”

“How the hell would I know?” Rosa muttered, staring down at her plate to cover up whatever might have been showing in her eyes.

“She’s your friend, isn’t she?” Samir persisted, apparently oblivious to his sister’s inner turmoil. “She must’ve said something.”

“Well, she hasn’t. I didn’t even know she’d got powers until I heard it through the grapevine.” _Even though she promised._ They both had, back when they first realised that heroes were just people; that anyone could become a cape. _If I got powers, I’d tell her._

Samir started to say something else, but Dad cut him off, saying sternly, “We shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“What? It’s not like it’s a secret. Everyone and their dog knows she’s a cape. Even Auntie Selma knows, and she’s half deaf!”

“People in our community know,” Dad corrected him seriously. “And we need to keep it that way. Malika is the first openly hijabi cape in the North. There are people who don’t like that. First and foremost, we need to keep her safe. And we do that by keeping quiet. Do you understand?”

“Yeah but not when we’re at home.” Samir’s frustration was clear in his voice. “It’s not like I’m yelling it in the street.”

“The more you practise discretion, the easier it becomes.”

“I guess,” Samir muttered, sounding unconvinced.

“She’d be safer if she didn’t make a thing of being Muslim,” Mum said suddenly. “She can dress modestly without wearing a headscarf. Like you said, people are going to get riled up, so why bring that on herself?” She shook her head, her expression troubled. “Her poor parents must be worried sick.”

Rosa wondered if she was thinking about the things people had called her when they saw her scarf; about the time some snotty toe-rag of a kid had pulled it right off her head. And for the first time since Mal had started freezing her out, the knot of barbed wire in her chest uncoiled enough for wonder and even pride to shine through.

“That’s why it’s important,” she said softly. “Things don’t change unless someone makes them change. What she’s doing is hard, and… and dangerous” —her mouth went dry, and she had to swallow before she could continue— “but it’s really brave. And because she’s standing up now, it’ll be easier for the next one to do the same.” Suddenly self-conscious, she dropped her gaze to her plate. “That’s what I think, anyway,” she muttered.

She found herself coming back to that thought over the next few days; prodding at it like a tongue poking at a loose tooth. _Was it her idea to do this?_ she wondered. Like Rosa, Mal only wore her hijab at the mosque. But putting it on to make a statement? That was definitely something she’d do. _Still doesn’t explain why she won’t talk to me, though._ And that brought her right back to the thing that was currently tying her stomach up in knots. _Should I try to talk to her about it tonight?_

“None of my friends have to go to school in the evening,” Samir was complaining when she got downstairs, just like he did every week. “Why do I have to learn Arabic anyway? We live in England, and everyone in Algeria speaks French.”

“Arabic is the language of the Qur’an,” Dad said, like he did every time, vaguely looking around the hallway until Mumrolled her eyes and picked up the car keys from the telephone table, putting them in his hand.

“That’s what translations are for.”

“It’s better in the original Arabic. Anyway, it’s a beautiful language.”

Samir continued to complain, but Rosa quickly tuned him out, too focused on what, if anything, she was going to say to Mal. He was probably still complaining when they parted ways to go to their respective classrooms. But no inspiration came, and then Mal was right there, surrounded by the gaggle of girls who’d attached themselves to her after… After. One of them was sitting in Rosa’s usual seat, and for a brief moment she thought about saying something, but in the end her courage failed her and she turned away.

“Rosa, hi!”

Mal’s voice stopped her in her tracks, and she had to take a moment to compose herself before she replied. “Hi.” She was instantly consumed by mortification at how stiff she sounded.

Mal started to say something, but then turned to the girl in Rosa’s seat and said, “Hey Fatima, would you mind scooching over for Rosa? Thanks!”

Fatima obligingly moved to another desk — although she shot Rosa a sour look as they awkwardly danced around each other in the narrow aisle — and Rosa cautiously settled herself into the newly-vacated seat. Mal was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t read, and she cast about for something, anything to break the tension, only to be spared the necessity when the teacher hurried in and started the class.

She didn’t have the first clue whether she was relieved or disappointed.

By the time the mid-lesson break rolled around, her shoulders were so tense they were up by her ears. As soon as the teacher gave them leave, the class departed en masse to make a beeline for the school’s lone vending machine — still one more than Rosa’s normal school had — to avail themselves of whatever treats the day classes had left behind. Mal seemed to hesitate, and Rosa’s heart leapt into her suddenly dry throat… but then one of the other girls called to Mal and she turned to join them.

Rosa lingered in the classroom for a few moments, trying to catch her breath, but then it occurred to her that Mal might think she was avoiding her, and the white-hot flare of panic sent her scurrying to catch up. As she rounded the final corner, her shoes slipped on the polished vinyl floor and she skidded to a stop, desperately flailing her arms in an attempt not to go arse over apex. Narrowly managing to keep her balance, she cringed in anticipation of the others girls’ laughter, relief filling her when she realised none of them had so much as looked her way. A moment later, that relief curdled into unease as she realised the reason no one had noticed was because they were crowding around Mal, their attention focused firmly on her.

“Go on,” Zainab was saying, her tone wheedling. “It doesn’t have to be anything big.”

“Yeah,” Maya added eagerly. “Just” —she wiggled her fingers— “do your thing.”

“I…” Mal glanced around, a deer-in-headlights expression written across her face. “I don’t… I can’t…”

“Pleeeeease?” Lilia that time, looking at Mal with big, hopeful eyes. “It’s just us here. No one else is going to see.”

The chorus continued, voices overlapping into a meaningless babble and Mal shrank back before the weight of it, her gaze flicking around with increasing desperation. It lit upon Rosa, and the shock of that contact was enough to snap Rosa out of her paralysis.

“Leave her alone!” she didn’t quite shout, feeling a thrill of satisfaction as several of the girls jumped, jerking their heads around towards her so fast they were in danger of giving themselves whiplash. “What’s wrong with you?”

Protests rose from them like a wave, cut off when Mal abruptly sprang into motion, shoving her way through the small crowd and running for the loos. A beat later — after one last fierce glare warning of the dire consequences should any of the other girls follow — Rosa hurried after her.

“Mal?” she called softly as the door swung closed behind her. “Malika? Are you okay?” _What a stupid question,_ she castigated herself, cringing inside when Mal hiccoughed out a laugh that was closer to a sob.

“I am so bloody far from okay right now.”

The pain in her voice almost brought tears to Rosa’s eyes, and she had to swallow before she could ask, “Want to talk about it?”

A beat’s silence, and then, “I don’t know.”

“If you want to, I’m here. And if you don’t want to, that’s okay. I’m still here. I’m always here for you, Mal. You’re my best friend.” Rosa’s voice cracked despite her best efforts, but she forced herself to keep going. “And if you want me to leave, just say the—”

The cubicle door slammed open to reveal Mal staring at her with wide, distressed eyes. “Don’t go,” she blurted out, surging forward to wrap her arms around Rosa so tightly that Rosa couldn’t stop herself from yelping. “Sorry,” Mal muttered, loosening her grip enough that Rosa could breathe. “I just… Keeping my distance has been killing me, and it was all for nothing in the end anyway. I couldn’t… couldn’t stand it if I lost you, not on top of everything else, so please… I know I’ve been an awful friend, Rosa, but please, please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” Rosa promised and, despite everything, it still felt like the most natural thing in the world to wrap her arms tightly around Mal. “We promised, remember? Best friends for life.”

“Best friends for life,” Mal echoed, and if there was an odd note in her voice, Rosa wasn’t going to risk everything to look that gift horse in the mouth; not when she finally had her friend back. “I’m sorry I shut you out.”

“That’s okay.” It wasn’t, but that sliver of hurt was buried too deep in relief to cut right now. Still, despite her resolve to just accept this good fortune, Rosa couldn’t stop herself from asking, “But why did you?”

Mal heaved a great, shuddering sigh. “Getting powers… it’s not anything like we thought it would be, Rosa. It’s… It was awful. And everybody knows I have them and everybody wants to know absolutely every little detail of how it happened and I can lie to them, but I can’t lie to you. I can never lie to you, Rosa.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” Rosa said softly, her heart breaking in two. “If you didn’t want to talk about it all you had to do is say that. The last thing I want is to make you feel bad.”

“No, I know, I—“ Breaking off, Mal stepped back. Rosa instantly dropped the embrace, but Mal put her hands on Rosa’s shoulders, looking into her eyes. “The thing is, I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to so much. But I was afraid that if I did, if told anyone at all, then I’d lose it completely. And I can’t afford to fall apart, not with so many eyes on me.” She let out a sharp, humourless laugh. “I’m the first hijabi cape in the North. I have to set an example.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and Rosa felt tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

“I don’t care that you’re the first,” Rosa said fiercely, her voice thick with all the emotions churning inside her. “I don’t even care that you’re a cape.” She was surprised to realise that was true. “I just care about you. And if you need to fall apart, then you can fall apart with me. I’ll help you put yourself back together again, and if anyone — anyone at all — says anything to you, then they’ll have me to deal with!”

Mal laughed again, but this time it was real. “My hero,” she said softly, brushing her fingertips over Rosa’s suddenly burning cheek.

“Yeah, well,” Rosa muttered, trying to ignore the butterflies flapping up a storm in her stomach. “Best friends forever, right?”

“Best friends,” echoed Mal, and if there was an odd note in her voice, a strange glint in her eyes, both vanished without a trace as she bounced over to the sink to splash water on her face. After studying herself critically for a moment or two, she nodded to her reflection. “Good enough. Let’s head back out. There’s a Dime Bar with my name on it.” A moment’s hesitation, and then, “And maybe I can come back to yours afterwards?”

Warmth gathered inside Rosa’s chest, spilling out into a cheek-aching smile.

“I’d like that.”


End file.
